Weekend shock
May. 28th, 2001 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mishadayMy house is empty for the moment. The cats are still here, and when I went upstairs to make tea, I could hear the roomie clacking away at her keyboard in her room. Deb's out (or should be) on her date with Kris, and I've a little space of time to myself. It's a little hard to believe she's only been here for two days.
Saturday I spent gloriously alone. Afternoon sun interspersed with Pharaoh, and then an effort to clean up the living room. I managed to get all the books off the floor and onto the table (though not the shelves), and the couch vacuumed and made up, but by 9:30, it was approaching bedtime, and I was winding down. Just then Chris called, wanting to come to pick up Deb in 3 hours.
It would have been nice to have company, but all I wanted to do was go to sleep right then. I knew I could make it out to the airport, but the thought of detouring to pickup Chris in QA was just not in the cards.
Tangent: I'm getting a little tired of playing chauffeur without a little recompense. Once or twice I don't mind, or for a special event, but gas is expensive, and I'm trying to wean myself off of my dependence on Juno.
Deb-ness was achieved at almost 1, and thence chez moi and sleep.
Sunday... Sunday was a blast with a sour note. Deb and I got up achingly early, but chatted and had lovely eggs and tea for breakfast. The rest of the morning and a good bit of the afternoon was spent with Rod and Rhonda at the Folklife Festival. I'm so glad I got to go (I didn't even know about the fest until we arrived) - I got sun on my cheeks, a little burn on my shoulders, a truly kick-ass velvet beret and a handful of pretty green rayon shirts.
After we'd been people-d out (and our feet hurt, our throats were dry, and our tummies were beginning to rumble again), we headed up to the Irish Emigrant (or Immigrant - I'm not sure, I didn't see but a part of the sign) for some Strongbow cider on tap. It's a great little Irish pub near BWH and just north of the UDistrict. Deb had 4 pints. I was driving. It was amusing.
We'd thought of doing dinner with Chris and Jessa, but with the clock marching on, and our stomachs in an uproar, Deb and I figured we'd just meet them at the poetry open-mic as planned and go from there.
Enter sour note. We got to the cafe at 8. It had started at 7, and Chris had already been there, waited and left. He'd also assumed we'd ditched him, and so proceeded to ditch us. Cue soap opera.
...
And now we get to the part of the journal where I'm hesitant to continue because Chris reads this and will probably get mad at me (again) when he reads this, but I'm beginning not to care. Part of being friends with people is knowing their blind spots and their weaknesses.
...
After the mic was over, Deb was worried, and I, well, I had a good idea of what might have happened. We found out Chris had been there, signed up, and split before he read. (He's known in poetry circles, dontcha know.) When we showed up on his doorstep, his face was stony, his voice was icy, and he didn't even want to acknowledge our presence but that we were shouting up at his third story window.
And me? I was pissed right back. He didn't have the courtesy to stick around at an event he almost always attended and read at, and had signed up for, when we were late. His assumption that our tardiness was deliberate stung, and I will not stand to be accused of something I did not do.
He came down, icy civility ruled, and Deb and I departed, explanations made. Rather than go home and curl up like wounded animals, we headed up the hill a little further, found Meg&John, and headed in search of some late night ice cream.
(Note: Minnie's is a 24-hour cafe, but they don't have ice cream. Not even a shake. The Hurricane, for all the goths and punks running around at midnight, serves a damn good apple pie, and they're even nice enough to break down and pretend 'a la mode' could include soft serve ice cream.)
I'll save today for later - I have laundry to fold, and another bit of Pharaoh to play.
Saturday I spent gloriously alone. Afternoon sun interspersed with Pharaoh, and then an effort to clean up the living room. I managed to get all the books off the floor and onto the table (though not the shelves), and the couch vacuumed and made up, but by 9:30, it was approaching bedtime, and I was winding down. Just then Chris called, wanting to come to pick up Deb in 3 hours.
It would have been nice to have company, but all I wanted to do was go to sleep right then. I knew I could make it out to the airport, but the thought of detouring to pickup Chris in QA was just not in the cards.
Tangent: I'm getting a little tired of playing chauffeur without a little recompense. Once or twice I don't mind, or for a special event, but gas is expensive, and I'm trying to wean myself off of my dependence on Juno.
Deb-ness was achieved at almost 1, and thence chez moi and sleep.
Sunday... Sunday was a blast with a sour note. Deb and I got up achingly early, but chatted and had lovely eggs and tea for breakfast. The rest of the morning and a good bit of the afternoon was spent with Rod and Rhonda at the Folklife Festival. I'm so glad I got to go (I didn't even know about the fest until we arrived) - I got sun on my cheeks, a little burn on my shoulders, a truly kick-ass velvet beret and a handful of pretty green rayon shirts.
After we'd been people-d out (and our feet hurt, our throats were dry, and our tummies were beginning to rumble again), we headed up to the Irish Emigrant (or Immigrant - I'm not sure, I didn't see but a part of the sign) for some Strongbow cider on tap. It's a great little Irish pub near BWH and just north of the UDistrict. Deb had 4 pints. I was driving. It was amusing.
We'd thought of doing dinner with Chris and Jessa, but with the clock marching on, and our stomachs in an uproar, Deb and I figured we'd just meet them at the poetry open-mic as planned and go from there.
Enter sour note. We got to the cafe at 8. It had started at 7, and Chris had already been there, waited and left. He'd also assumed we'd ditched him, and so proceeded to ditch us. Cue soap opera.
...
And now we get to the part of the journal where I'm hesitant to continue because Chris reads this and will probably get mad at me (again) when he reads this, but I'm beginning not to care. Part of being friends with people is knowing their blind spots and their weaknesses.
...
After the mic was over, Deb was worried, and I, well, I had a good idea of what might have happened. We found out Chris had been there, signed up, and split before he read. (He's known in poetry circles, dontcha know.) When we showed up on his doorstep, his face was stony, his voice was icy, and he didn't even want to acknowledge our presence but that we were shouting up at his third story window.
And me? I was pissed right back. He didn't have the courtesy to stick around at an event he almost always attended and read at, and had signed up for, when we were late. His assumption that our tardiness was deliberate stung, and I will not stand to be accused of something I did not do.
He came down, icy civility ruled, and Deb and I departed, explanations made. Rather than go home and curl up like wounded animals, we headed up the hill a little further, found Meg&John, and headed in search of some late night ice cream.
(Note: Minnie's is a 24-hour cafe, but they don't have ice cream. Not even a shake. The Hurricane, for all the goths and punks running around at midnight, serves a damn good apple pie, and they're even nice enough to break down and pretend 'a la mode' could include soft serve ice cream.)
I'll save today for later - I have laundry to fold, and another bit of Pharaoh to play.
Don't forget the malts!
Date: 2001-05-28 10:15 pm (UTC)Moulin Rouge opens Tuesday. Yes, oh yes.
-Meg
Re: Don't forget the malts!
Date: 2001-05-28 10:38 pm (UTC)Tuesday? As in tomorrow? I am so there!